Chapter 16
Two years after the chapel incident, Agnes asked for a family photograph.
I became suspicious immediately.
“Why?”
“Because I’m your mother.”
Weak explanation.
She invited Luca.
Me.
Several cousins.
Even Owen.
That surprised me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo?
“No.”
Clear.
Owen arrived early.
Stayed at the edge.
No pin.
No authority.
Agnes chose where everyone stood.
Not by rank.
Height.
She complained the shorter relatives disappeared otherwise.
Very practical matriarchy.
Then she looked at Owen.
“You stand beside Luca.”
He froze.
Luca did too.
My mother waited.
Both complied.
No hug.
No dramatic reconciliation.
Just two men sharing a photograph because Agnes wanted one.
Before the camera clicked, Owen whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
Agnes looked at him.
“You already said that.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
Good.
No demand for reward.
Click.
Afterward, my mother examined the photograph.
“No caskets.”
I laughed.
“Low standard.”
“Important standard.”
Then she handed it to me.
One day, I realized, this would become one of the last photographs of Agnes.
That thought hurt.
Not because of age alone.
Because Owen and Lorenzo had tried to decide when her story ended.
Now she was choosing how she appeared inside it.
Alive.
Standing.
May you like
Annoyed about everyone’s posture.
Perfect.
